


Pucknado II: The Sharkening

by greenglowsgold



Series: Pucknado [2]
Category: Glee, Sharknado (2013)
Genre: M/M, the saga continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:52:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenglowsgold/pseuds/greenglowsgold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shotguns in the morning; explosives in the afternoon. A day that started out with sharks crashing through the windows shouldn't be allowed to get weirder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pucknado II: The Sharkening

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who made me feel better this week <3  
> I hope you enjoy this.

Eventually, of course, they were bound to run into another group of survivors. Also, perhaps just as inevitably, those survivors were fucking insane. But Kurt had already seen them rappel down from a bridge to rescue a bus full of children and then get chased back up by a very determined great white, so maybe he should just not be surprised, or at least start grading on a curve.

Still, it felt a little too much like one of those dumb action flicks Finn had him watch in high school for the answer to everything to be: bombs.

“Okay, I haven’t taken a physics course since high school, and even I’m pretty sure that’s not how tornadoes work.” Puck was frowning down at a table full of components for homemade explosives. After a three minute lesson, they’d been left to their own devices. The rest of the party had spread out across the warehouse, to create some kind of insurance, Kurt assumed, in case one of them fumbled with the imprecise instructions and blew a sizeable hole in the floor of the building.

“I’d have to agree with you.” Kurt slotted a flare carefully into place, trying not to care about the very imminent danger, because if he held his breath every time he thought he might explode, he would pass out from oxygen deprivation long before the sharks got in. “At least we know how to make bombs, now.”

Puck snorted. “You gonna put that on your resume? Right below acting experience and education: making bombs.”

“Also large animal hunting,” Kurt reminded him. “Under ‘special skills.’” He smiled ruefully down at the complete (probably?) bomb in his hands. “Yeah, I’m kind of hoping this stuff won’t ever be useful again.”

“Zombie apocalypse aside, yeah.”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “But until then, probably better not to go around bragging about this.”

“No kidding. Independent citizens holed up in a warehouse making explosives, that we plan to set off in the middle of Los Angeles.” Puck blinked, hands pausing on a fuel canister. “Wow. That’s like, terrorist stuff. Are we terrorists now, Kurt?”

“I think in this case, the sharks are the terrorists,” Kurt said, and then he had to lean forward and just put his head against the table for a few minutes. Puck rubbed his back soothingly.

Too soon, they were being called back to the center, carrying their bombs gingerly and adding them to a pile that Kurt wanted to be nowhere near. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to be near it for long, because Nova volunteered for the duty of going up in the helicopter that Bobby could “basically” fly, to toss the things into the exact center of the tornadoes. Kurt didn’t bother to ask where she thought she’d gotten that kind of accuracy. On the other hand, tornadoes were pretty big; they were probably hard to miss.

Kurt would be holding down the fort from the ground, which he liked a lot better, with the safety of a shotgun in his hands and Puck right next to him. Of course, ‘on the ground’ still meant outside, which was where all the sharks were.

Or, as one of their party put it – Buzz or Bat or something that Kurt hadn’t heard quite right – where “shit’s gonna get real.”

Weapons were passed out, mostly whatever they could find around the warehouse. Kurt kept a tight grip on his shotgun – he wasn’t letting go of that for anything, and his aim was improving – but he also picked up a piece of something metal that looked like it used to be part of a shelf, but broken off and sharpened. Hopefully, it was sharp enough to go through a shark’s head. They were mostly cartilage, right?

“Hey, neat,” Puck said, peering over his shoulder. “You can tie that to the gun and make a bayonette kinda thing.”

“No, I think… What the hell are you doing with that?”

Puck grinned, hefting the chainsaw up a little higher in his arms. “Killing sharks, duh.”

“That’s impractical,” Kurt said.

“So’s a bayonette.”

That was a fair point, even though Kurt didn’t actually intend on tying them together like that. The stick… spear… thing… it was more of a backup weapon, in case something got close. God, he hoped nothing got too close.

“You know,” Puck said thoughtfully, considering the edge of the chainsaw, “this is actually kind of awesome.”

“Except for the part where we might die,” Kurt reminded him.

“Yeah, except for that.” Puck sighed. “Okay, whatever, it _sucks_ , but what else are we supposed to do? There’s no cops out there trying to handle the shark problem; they’re too busy making sure people stay inside the city. I mean, what the hell?”

“I know, I know.” Kurt bit his lip. “I don’t actually _want_ to just curl up in a closet and wait for the military to roll through, but…”

Puck hummed agreeably, shuffling half a step closer, though his eyes stayed on the chainsaw.

“We just… we just won’t die,” Kurt said firmly.

Puck laughed. “Just like that? Pure force of will?”

Kurt frowned at him. “I survived four years of high school in Lima, Ohio on force of will alone, you know. Don’t knock it.”

“Right. Good point. No dying then, I promise.” Puck held up a pinky, and though it made Kurt sigh a little inside, he wound his own through it to shake. He may have forgotten to let go afterward, but that was hardly worth mentioning.

Everyone was in varying states of determined and terrified when they met by the door. “Ready?” yelled one of the guys who was wielding a weed whacker and exchanging significant glances with several other people at once. He swung open the door.

Outside, it was incredibly loud. The wind was so strong that Kurt could feel the sting through his clothes. When he looked up, he felt abruptly like a kid staring at the world’s most terrifying crib mobile; sharks swirled through the air in no apparent pattern, snapping and waving their fins like they were trying to swim.

“Surrealism,” Kurt muttered.

“That’s that Dali guy, right?” Puck said back, though it didn’t sound much louder than a whisper over the storm.

Someone took a shot at a shark that had gotten too close and dropped it from its path, which finally seemed to spur everyone into motion. Buzz (or whoever) took a couple of guys to the car while the rest of them ran to the helicopter, Bobby carrying an armful of bombs. Kurt, and anyone else with a gun, kept their sights pointed upward, shooting at anything that came their way while the others started loading the bombs and getting the helicopter ready to go.

Kurt was just wiping the water from his eyes, sight obscured by the heavy wind that made him tear up so much he was having trouble getting good shots in, when he heard the rip of a chainsaw nearby. He turned to find Puck standing next to a shark in two wriggling pieces, blade bloody and still running hard.

“Puck,” Kurt said weakly, still staring at the brain matter leaking out from where the shark had been cut cleanly down the center of its head.

Puck laughed a little, but it came out too shaky to sound pleasant. “That was… Like a fuckin’ matador, Kurt. It came right at me…” He reached out a quivering hand, as if looking for something to steady himself on, but just as Kurt moved to catch him there was a scream.

“Fucker— you _fucker_ , get off my _leg_ , aaaahh!”

Bobby whacked away the shark with another one of those broken shafts of metal, stabbing it through the eyes several times for good measure, but Nova was on the ground, moaning through her teeth and jerking hands that couldn’t reach down far enough to grasp her leg. Blood poured from a gash of teeth marks that spanned above and below her knee, and Kurt had to suck in a breath at the sight.

In a flash, one of the blonde women had knelt down beside her, pressing her hands to the wound and wrapping a shirt around it tightly. Kurt regained enough of his composure to shoot at another couple of sharks that circled in closer. Maybe they could smell the blood; he really didn’t know.

“God, she’s losing a lot of blood,” the woman said worriedly, clamping her hands tighter around Nova’s leg and ignoring the shout it prompted. “We have to get her back inside.”

“You need someone else – in the helicopter,” Nova gasped. “Guys, you – can’t—”

“Not you,” the woman hushed.

The younger girl (Kurt was sure he’d know more names if these people just spoke to him more instead of having tense and quiet conversations amongst themselves) stepped forward. “I’ll do it.”

At least three voices spoke up at once to shout her down, and within seconds it was an argument. Meanwhile, Puck was helping Nova to her feet despite her protests, because Bobby kept insisting she needed to be inside.

Kurt took another shot at the sky and watched a shark twice his size fall to the ground with a bloody thump, which didn’t even disturb the people shouting around him, and felt something snap. ‘ _Fuck it_ ,’ he thought. “I’ll go.”

_That_ shut them up, and Kurt considered for the first time that maybe he’d been just as uncommunicative with these people as they’d been with him, if it was such a surprise to hear him speak. Naturally, Puck was the first to recover, mouth twitching up at the sides like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh. “Kurt, what?”

“I’ll go,” Kurt repeated, shrugging. “We built the bombs, I know how to set them off.”

“Kurt.” Puck scrambled, nearly dropping Nova to the ground as he left all her weight to the woman lifting her other side. Kurt thought vaguely it was a good thing he’d already put down the chainsaw; that could have been messy. “We agreed this was _stupid_ ,” Puck hissed into his ear, now two centimeters away and grasping Kurt’s arm tight.

“You said no one else was going to do anything,” Kurt said.

“I didn’t—” Puck broke off, breathing out sharply. “It’s not even possible. We said it wasn’t physically possible.”

“Neither is that.” Kurt pointed overhead, where there was probably a 40% chance of finding a shark, though Puck didn’t bother to look, just stayed focused on Kurt’s eyes. “Puck, we’re clearly not safe on the ground, either…”

“Kurt, you _can’t_ ,” Puck said desperately.

Kurt stared at him for a moment, trying to process the appropriate, calming response, but maybe his brain was fried by now because all that came out was: “I _can’t_?” He ripped himself back from Puck’s grip. “There are sharks _raining from the sky_ , one of them tried to take a chunk out of my arm this morning, and I spent the day making bombs and practicing shooting with live targets, so don’t tell me what I can’t do.”

“But it’s.” Puck fumbled, hands grasping at air. “This is stupid, I mean of course you— but you can’t just—”

“Stop _saying_ that,” Kurt growled. “I’m going. I’m _going_.”

No one else seemed inclined to argue with him.

Kurt moved to take Puck’s place, helping Nova back into the building with Bobby’s mother on her other side. When he came back out, everyone had gone back to their jobs. Bobby had the helicopter ready to go a few minutes later, and he called out from inside the booth. Kurt hefted up his staff (which was a stupid thing to call it, but it was too big to be a knife) and considered the shotgun. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Puck. “I think shooting from the air is still a little out of my range.”

Puck’s fingers brushed against his as he took the gun. “I still don’t even know how to hold this.”

“You’ve been watching me shoot all day.”

“Yeah.” Puck smirked, eyes on the ground. “Wasn’t really looking at your grip, though.”

Kurt had to bite his lip to stop whatever emotion was trying to come through; he wasn’t sure which. “You’ll figure it out.” He took a breath and walked over to Bobby, swinging into his seat. The sound of the helicopter blades blocked out everything else as they rose, and Kurt watched the ground fall away.

\---

Standing on the strip below, Puck hefted the gun to his shoulder to figure out a grip. He took the clue from the warmest patch of surface, and let it rest against his body.


End file.
